


Forgotten entries

by ProudFujoshi



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Chaptered but i dunno how many, Gen, M/M, Maknae line, May have supernatural occurences, Start off super angsty but it gets better i swear, happy ending guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProudFujoshi/pseuds/ProudFujoshi
Summary: "Hey, when was the last time you smile?"That. Those words penetrate deep into his soul that he chokes so hard that he cries."Why do your smile looks so sad?"Bae Jinyoung swears he officially give up on his young life but when Lee Daehwi, the actual incarnate of the sun invites himself into the mess, reaching out a warm hand with equally warm smile, he feels himself alive and well once again.





	Forgotten entries

I never noticed how this slight perverse behaviour of mine has become a habit, I am the type that doesn’t pay attention to details anyway. For all I know, as I flip through the pages of the battered notebook and run my fingers down its crumbling spine, I feel at peace. Contented, to be exact. Every night, without fail, I will always rummage for the same old book, reading the same old entries under the shadow of moonlight. Tonight, is not an exception either. 

First, I will make sure that my mom has went to sleep in her room. Then, silently, I switch open my bedside lamp, scooting close enough to the light source so I can read the diary which I tactfully hide under my mattress. Before that, I would like to inform that yes, indeed I knew that reading someone else's diary is completely wrong, being my mom's one on top of that, but I couldn’t help it. If I don’t do this, I feel like I will lose her completely one day. It is unfortunate enough that I keep losing pieces of her day by day due to her busy schedule and the illness that eating away her health, I've done this merely to gather bits of her memories in me. 

Besides, I barely knew her in person. Aside from being a strict mom for as long as I remember, I never really know what colour she likes or what kind of movie she fond of or whether she ever dreamed of having an unbearably depressed son when she was 15 years old. Through her entries, which she had written diligently during her late teen all the way to her early pregnancy, I get to know her so much more. In fact, too much, the surge of emotions swirls around my own sometimes, tightly entwining, too tightly that sometimes I ended up breathing fast to catch up with the speedy beats of my heart.

By now, I already know the entire diary like the back of my hands. My favourite entry is definitely the one when my mom first met my dad. Well, you can basically read the emotions she's having that day by her writing, that bubbly letters, extra curly g's and y's, the slight trembles at the very first sentence. She was ecstatic, I could feel that her mouth must be aching from smiling too big as she ran through the memory of the day. The heat of my dad's palm, the endless smile that he gave, the tender kiss on the forehead as they said goodbye for the day, I feel like I was there, watching the scene play out in front of me like I was the director and they were the actors. 

I sigh heavily as I run a finger across the written words. If only I could be there to witness this. If only I still have a dad. If only mom can still smile once again. Before getting too deep in thought that might never be a reality, I shut the book as meticulous as I can before place them under my mattress, deciding that I have recharged enough for the day. I still have tomorrow to look forward to, I should at least live a life for the two of us if my mom's is already buried down in memories. 

 

Today Mom decides it is a perfect day to pack things up. We need to move to our 6-th house in 2 days because apparently Mom received a promotion as a head executive to another branch of their office. I don’t really mind, it's not like anyone will miss me. I won’t miss anyone too. Didn’t I tell you, I am 90 percent depressed and 10 percent bored. It’s not like anyone will find me interesting enough to be their friend. I was told to pack things that we only need since the new house won’t be that big. Hmm, it’s not like we have that much stuff anyway. I was entrusted to pack Mom's stuff too since she can’t find a free time before leaving. 

Despite this might seem like a huge burden to me, I think that this is the chance to get to know my current Mom. Like what kind of perfume she uses, or what brand of tea she prefers, or does she still write entries like she used to. I did find out that she fancies fruity scented shower gel, jasmine green tea, and furry slippers and somehow, as I examine through her personal things, I feel like I can absorb some part of her into me, blending into my skin. Or maybe it just that I wear too much of her coconut based body lotion.

It is when I was stacking out her books off the bookshelf that I realize that she still writes a diary, if not currently it's definitely the one after the diary I have been holding on to for almost 3 years. Judging from the ragged but otherwise smooth surface of the cover, it must be pretty old, probably back when I was just born. Even though I know that Mom is currently at her office I couldn’t help feeling conscious as I crane my neck left and right so fast that I almost in vertigo. After I made sure that no one is watching me, I sprint to my room in mere seconds before locking the door behind me. If that is not enough, I even draw the curtain down and shut the window. 

I strictly prefer keeping this secret to myself, I vow to bring this to my grave, keeping this close to me during my dying hours. I start by caressing the diary all over, feeling the surface which has turned rough over the years. Then I inhale the musky smell of the pages, slightly intoxicated by the aged aroma of being untouched for too long of a period. I begin reading the first sentence after I have calm my nerves, inhaling a long relaxed breath as I trace a finger over pages. 

The entry was written like any other of her entries, this being the continuation of the rest of her pregnancy. She wrote that she barely able to lift her pen due to her horrendous morning sickness, she wrote how she had to bear with eating only rice, seaweed soup and banana for the entire 3 months before the morning sickness finally left her, she wrote how good was her husband to her as he helped he gone through the physically draining pregnancy, how he always be there for her whenever she needed him. 

I take my eyes away from the words and opt to stare at the back of my palm for a few moments, my heart thumps so loud it's almost deafening. Why do I feel so betrayed? If he was that good, where is he now? I know he's not dead since the only thing I heard when I asked Mom about him were string of curses, followed by a woman name accompanied by same amount of curses. You bet, I am an expert at cursing as I reach 9 years old. I glance at the clock on my desk. 3.00 p.m. I have enough time to finish the whole entries since Mom never at home until 8.00 p.m. anyway.

Even if I feel like a weight just being placed right on top of my heart, I just swallow the heaviness and continue reading. The entries now focused on her eating habit and her desperate cravings. Some of them made me smile and the others made me cringe slightly as I was the one causing her so much pain even before being born. But one particular entry caught my interest. It was her first check-up. Due to her strong resentment toward hospitals and doctors, Dad only managed to bring her for check up on her 4th month, barely missing her early trimester. 

'...i was pleasantly surprised to hear the news. Well, two is definitely better than one. My heart swells in delight as I imagine our twins running around on the backyard. The doctor reprimanded me for not coming sooner since I might cause harm to the babies without me knowing. For once I feel bad for thinking only for myself, I should stop being selfish and start think more of my two children I have carried for these 4 months. My husband was absolutely.....'

If minutes ago, I was feeling betrayed, now, I barely feel any emotions other than shocked, flabbergasted, bewildered. I break into a cold sweat as I re-read the entire entry words by words, my mouth loudly narrating the sentences, to make sure I was not in any way mistaken. Two is better than one, our twins, my two children. I never heard of this before. I wonder if this diary was really my Mom's. Well, it got her name and her facts right and the chances of someone else writing things in my Mom's personal diary is close to zero.

But what's up with this entry? Isn’t this supposed to be about me? Me alone? Who were these twins? I never heard of any other sibling other than me. Given something had happened to them, Mom would've told me, right? I am her child, her only son now. With my trembling hands, I hold the diary tight, tight enough to leave half-moon imprints of my nails onto the cover as I greedily drink in the words, sentences by sentences, seeking blindly for an unspoken explanation. 

It costs me almost 3 hours to find out that one of the twin was indeed me. The day of our birth, the bittersweet that was captured in her writing leave me wheezing, the invisible lumps in my throat didn’t seem to budge as I struggle to gasp for air. My hand fumbles in the drawer to retrieve my anti-depressant pills. I didn’t hesitate to dry swallow 2 pills at once. As I gradually have control over myself again I try to digest the information that I have just discovered. I had a twin. A twin that I never heard of. Someone that share the exact placenta, the same umbilical cord, breathing in the same amniotic fluid. A sibling that I never had the chance of getting to know.

I am dying to know more of this hidden truth but at the same time I am scared. I am terrified of the consequences of obtaining the sudden explanation for this concealed history. I am equally worried if I'll be able to act the same around my Mom now that I've known a piece of her, and a piece of me that she kept in the dark for far too long. Gathering whatsoever strength left in me, I pick up the diary once again, I don’t even realise I was holding my breath until it was the 8th sentences or so. 

The entries had taken a different route after we had been born. On one entry, we were the source of her joy and happiness and the next she claimed that she could only had so much happening in her life she might've want to kill herself if one of us starts wailing. I can’t deny it was disturbing to know such truth, even if I caused my Mom trouble all the time, even if she had said she was tired of me on several occasions now. For wanting to kill herself, being a burden that big, I really don’t feel like a champion right now, let alone feel like a deserving child.

After that very entry, there are no more entries, only empty pages and a few receipts slipped here and there. At that point, I want a closure now that I've known a sliver of this secrecy. It’s unfair that my other half was being sealed up for 17 years in total. He might have been across the sea, wondering why he always feel empty. Or he might've been right over the next block, trying to reason the uneasy senses he felt about being neighbours to someone so familiar yet so distant to him. With tears trickling down my face, I scrutiny each and every page after, wiping away my runny nose in intervals. 

Maybe luck is on my side as I flip to the very back of the pages, right before the end of the cover. There is an entry, an angry one I recognise as my finger hoover between the hard-pressed d's and the capital of every letters, the ink that seemed to seep through the back cover, the intimidating red pen instead of the usual blue one. What I've read next is the words that will forever etched in my mind, haunting me for the next day and the next and the next and the eternal next day of my life. Words that bring me nightmares, words that automatically makes me sick, so sick that I throw up on the carpet, my favourite Mickey Mouse carpet.

'...I had killed my own child. He didn’t stop crying, so I shook him hard. He screamed louder, so I just had to shut him down, with anything I could. The first thing I saw was the pillow. Without thinking I just had to do it. He screamed so loud. My head hurt so much. I wasn’t thinking straight. And then he stopped screaming. And then he stopped moving. And then he stopped br...'

I abruptly throw the diary across the room, so hard it bounces off the wall and land on my feet. Without realising it I start screaming hysterically as I kick the diary under my bed before getting sick all over the tainted carpet once again. I hate how I subconsciously imagine how the situation played out. I hate how helpless I feel right now after learning the revolting truth. I hate how I was the one she decided not to kill. I hate how I have thought highly of her as my Mom. I hate how she cunningly hid the truth from me. I hate her. I hate her now. I will hate her forever.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

**Author's Note:**

> My AO3 debut yippie. I miss those days when my twin sister will type out my fanfics when I finished writing them on my notebook. This fic was inspired by you, heyya, I hope you're reading this. 
> 
> I was writing this months ago but I never found suitable characters for it and now deepdark appear and I just cant resist. Also inspired by my sleepless night in Edinburgh, hunted by deadlines and exams. I have approximately 1 month n a half to savour left over summer break, I hope I can finish this by then. Enjoy.
> 
> I also love how I can seperate wanna one into hyung line and maknae line, I can now write seperate fic in peace.
> 
> Dear me, shut up already.


End file.
